And The Wind It Blows
by graceofgod
Summary: ‘Stop, Dean. Just stop.’ “I can’t.” ‘Yeah. You can.’ Knew what the next words would be even before he spoke them, what they had to be, perfect reflection of where it all began." What comes after the end? Death-fic. Sorta. Post-Death fic, maybe.


_**A/N1:**_ When I started writing this story, I had a very clear plot in my head. Two storylines: Dean, believing Sam was dead and trying to cope, Sam - quite definitely NOT dead trying to find Dean.

Yeah.

Didn't happen.

I started writing. Stopped for a sniffle. Wrote some more. Stopped. Wrote. Ran out of tissues...

This one scene became a ficlet in it's own right. I've got nowhere to take this - make up your own back story and take it where you will!

_Dean, Sam, the Impala and the amulet all belong to the evil mastermind known as the Kripke. The drivel that's left, sadly, is all I lay claim to. darnit._

_**A/N2: **_While I was writing (and sniffling) I listened to just one song - 'Intro', by The Blackwater Fever. It's stunning. And it's the second time I've written tragedy to a song called intro. huh. The lyrics fit perfectly, as did the tone of the song: weary and lonely, quietly sad; now that the frantic drama has ended, all there is left is the desperation. I guess that's what comes after.

_Oh Heavenly nightly,__  
__cries in serenade.__  
__So tenderly and lightly,__  
__raps at my window pane._

_And the wind it blows,__  
__weeping willows sway.__  
__So Heavenly nightly,__  
__lead me astray._

_~~WiB~~_

It felt… wrong.

Nothing he could put his finger on, nothing he could name just…

Looked over at the passenger door before he could stop himself.

Shuddered, tore his eyes back to the road unwinding in the dark.

White-knuckled the steering wheel for the next three miles.

He ached.

Slow realisation that came on him every night about this time, every joint, every muscle worn down to nothing. Sometimes, he felt like _he _was wearing away, like soon there would be nothing left but a pile of dust on the side of a lonely road somewhere.

Out of nowhere, the image flickered across his mind, a tiny, pathetic heap of grey ash and gold glittering inside it.

Clenched his jaw until he thought he heard his teeth crack when he realised his hand was brushing at his t-shirt, reaching for something that wasn't there.

Shook his head, slouched down in his seat and pushed the pedal a little harder to the floor.

The road blurred past, long and so empty it hurt to see.

His eyes slid right again and he caught them, snatched them back to the windshield and the desert, lit only by twin searchlights. There was no moon, no stars, just a thick layer of cloud that had burned bloody and violent as the sun set and woke him up. rolling his shoulders, he figured he had another six hours or so to kill until dawn brought another day of not-sleeping; restless dreams that wouldn't leave him alone in another no-tell motel that charged by the hour.

Sometimes, when he couldn't find anywhere that would let him check in at dawn and out at dusk, or when he just couldn't afford it and couldn't conjure a mask strong enough to let him hustle, he ended up sleeping in the car.

Those days were the worst.

He didn't sleep at all, those days. Just stared at the nothing behind his eyelids and waited for the sun to set.

Shifting, lights in the mirror caught his eye and he watched them come up behind, pulled over, the truck raging past in a rush of sound and fury that made him flinch and his gaze fell on the passenger door again.

On the empty seat.

And he couldn't look away.

His chest hitched, shoulders shaking, just once as he stared.

Heard a whisper, far back in the deepest shadows in his head; _you have to do it. You have to. I'm sorry _and choked on a sob, burying his teeth in his lip as he refused again to let the tears fall.

He shook, hands still clutching the wheel like it was the only thing left in the world, so tight he could feel the stitches in the leather burning into his palms and the inside of his fingers. He only knew he was whispering, mumbling wordless denial when he ran out of breath and sucked in air that tasted of hot tar and sand with a gasp that snapped his head back and broke the lock on his gaze.

Slamming his eyes shut he dropped his chin to his chest, twisted his shoulders and huddled against the door, finally letting go of the wheel to wrap his arms around his sides, aching fingers digging into his ribs, head crushed into a corner of glass and metal and leather.

The engine shivered under him, slow and ragged, the unsteady beat jarring against his pulse.

'What are you doing, man?'

The whisper froze him; he would happily have taken any odds that even his heart stopped.

'Dude. Come on.'

"No," he murmured, no breath behind it, just desperate denial and long-refused hope. "No."

'Please.'

He didn't open his eyes, wouldn't, couldn't. His back warmed nonetheless, the emptiness not so empty any more.

"You're not real."

Barely recognised his own voice, a jagged croak that tore at his throat. Heard a soft chuckle and tasted blood as he bit down on his lip again, dug his fingers into his ribs until they cramped.

'Look at me.'

Shook his head in its corner, hair scratching at the window, loud in the hush that was so complete he thought dazedly that he should be able to hear the world turning.

'_Look _at me, man.'

Let his eyes flutter open, blinded by salt as he stared at the reflection behind his shoulder.

"You can't be real."

'I'm right here, dude.'

Strangled laugh at that, one that turned into a sob he couldn't choke, the reassurance that had held him there so many times when the world tried to shake him off with blood and hurt. Remembered waking up once, hazy and confused, everything too loud, too bright, too big, too fast; insane kaleidoscope of a hospital bed and dispassionate faces in white coats looming over him.

_Right here. I'm right here._

And a hand wrapped around his, a shadow standing between him and the white coats and the light, holding him down and still and steady.

_I'm right here, dude. Take it easy, I've got you._

Felt the tears fill his throat, burn his eyes as he heard the echo in his head again, fought to cling on to the older memory but he couldn't stop it, the whisper from somewhere right down in the shadows, so deep it seemed to claw something loose inside him.

'_You have to do it. I'm sorry. Dean…'_

'_Hold on, Sammy. Just hold on, alright?'_

'_No. I can't. I can't… __**see **__you, Dean.'_

'_God. I'm here, Sammy. I'm right here dude, I've gotcha.'_

_Rocking, on his knees in the dust, fists twisted in slick plaid, tearing it as he held the shivering figure as tight as he could, crimson dripping from the slash burning his cheek, falling like bloody tears._

''_I'm right here, and I ain't lettin' go.'_

''_M sorry, Dean.'_

'_No. Don't you apologise, Sammy. Don't you do that.'_

'_I can't… Dean.'_

'_Don't. Hold on, you hear me? You hold on. Don't.'_

'Dean.'

Shuddered, flinched as a hand brushed his shoulder and ducked his head down into the tiny, hard-edged space again, buried himself in the dark because as much as he wanted to he couldn't say that word again. _Don't go. Don't leave me. Don't._

'What are you gonna do, man? Drive until you hit the coast again? Then what? Turn around and head west? _Again?_ How many times can you do that, Dean?'

"Many as it takes."

Ground it out through chattering teeth as he clung to the last shreds of control.

'_Stop, _Dean. Just stop.'

"I _can't."_

'Yeah. You can.'

Knew what the next words would be even before he spoke them, what they had to be, perfect reflection of where it all began.

"Yeah, well. I don't want to."

Silence then and he found his heart pounding, sudden terror that brought his head up and round so fast the scruffy interior pitched and yawed and he lost it again behind the haze as he saw the empty seat and the passenger door.

Jumped as music screamed at him, tape scratchy and jerking from too long un-played, too many miles of nothing he could stand but the sound of the engine. Even that was more than he could bear, but stopping was worse. When he stopped, the memories caught up with him. He snatched his hand back from the radio he didn't even remember switching on and shrank back against the door. Caught a glimpse of his reflection in the windshield, wide-eyed and haggard, eight days of beard roughening his jaw.

And over his shoulder, a shadow grinned sadly, hazel eyes glittering for a moment, long fingers holding something that twisted as it dangled, shot sparks of gold into his face like sunlight.

"Sammy?"

Didn't turn, didn't tear his eyes away until there was nothing behind him but the empty seat and the road he'd already travelled stretching away to the horizon.

Shivered as he twisted at last, reached over the back, stretching until his fingers caught in worn, frayed cord and pulled it to him.

And he curled into the seatback, buried his head in his hands, the amulet digging into the barely healed scar across his cheek as he wept in the silent, empty car.


End file.
